


Home (with me)

by i_claudia



Series: summer pornathon 2013 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Season/Series 01, Summer Pornathon 2013, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen is just finishing arranging Morgana's hair when Morgana says, “I saw you flirting with the new servant boy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home (with me)

**Author's Note:**

> Summer Pornathon 2013. Challenge Five: Canon Era.
> 
> Because sometimes you just need a little S1 throwback fic.

Gwen is just finishing arranging Morgana's hair when Morgana says, “I saw you flirting with the new servant boy.”

“He's Gaius's new assistant,” Gwen says after a pause. “And I wasn't _flirting_ , just...welcoming him to Camelot.”

“Do you welcome all new servants? I hadn't noticed.”

“Not all of them! He looked lonely.”

“Do you think he might look _lonely_ because he keeps getting himself thrown into the stocks? You shouldn't bother with such a troublemaker, Gwen.”

“Arthur's being unreasonable and you know it.” Gwen fastens the heavy gold necklace around Morgana's throat, allowing her hands to linger on the warm skin as she bends down to whisper, “Are you jealous, my lady?”

Morgana snorts. “Hardly.” 

Gwen, though, is too well-versed in the angles of Morgana's shoulders and the stubborn jut of her chin to be fooled by so half-hearted a denial. 

“You know I serve you,” Gwen says seriously, stepping around to tug her up from her chair. “There's never been another for me.”

“Don't say it like that.” Morgana cups her hands around Gwen's face, stroking one thumb along her cheek. “Don't make me sound like a duty.” 

Gwen pulls Morgana in with two fingers under her chin. “Never,” she says, and kisses Morgana, closing her eyes at the sweetness of Morgana's soft lips, the warm spices of her perfume. “Nothing about you has ever been _duty_.”

Morgana opens under the kiss, slipping her arms around Gwen's waist to hold her close, and Gwen steps in eagerly, sliding her hands down over Morgana's breasts, enjoying the feel of them beneath the fabric of her dress. The touch makes Morgana hiss through her teeth.

“We shouldn't,” Morgana says. “Dinner—”

“Can wait,” Gwen interrupts firmly. “Not for long,” she adds at Morgana's raised eyebrow; “just long enough.”

“It takes forever to put this dress on,” Morgana protests. “You should know that, of all people.”

Gwen gives her a crooked little smile. “I don't want to take it off,” she says, sinking to her knees and letting her hands trail down Morgana's stomach to her thighs. “I just want to taste you.” She folds her hands around the backs of Morgana's knees, and it doesn't take any more encouragement than that before Morgana is sitting again, bending from the waist to kiss Gwen—deeper, fiercer—while Gwen slips her fingers underneath the beaded hem of the dress.

The hair on Morgana's legs is fine and soft; her skin is softer still, freshly washed and scented, and Gwen takes her time, dancing a teasing touch over Morgana's knees and along the insides of her thighs. Morgana has one hand on Gwen's shoulder, her thumb cutting in just under Gwen's collarbone.

“Gwen...”

“My lady,” Gwen says, turning to press one kiss to Morgana's knuckles before ducking under Morgana's skirts, inhaling deeply. All the perfume in the world couldn't cover this smell: Morgana's own particular scent, heavier now with desire, strange and perfect. Gwen doesn't bother with the niceties. She takes what she wants, fluttering kisses along Morgana's intimate creases, spreading Morgana's lips and sliding her tongue along the hot skin hidden there. Morgana nudges her legs against Gwen's shoulders, but Gwen just loops a hand around Morgana's thigh, moving her fingers in short, calming strokes. 

When Gwen closes her mouth around the sensitive nub and sucks, gently, Morgana gasps. She's never loud when they do this—it's a game Gwen plays with herself, figuring how to get the best noises from Morgana, and each sound she draws out feels like a tiny victory. She doesn't stop: she delves deeper, relishing the wetness on her face as she pushes inside Morgana with tiny licks. Morgana's legs are trembling around her; her breathing is ragged and loud in the stillness of the room. Gwen works her tongue back and forth slowly enough that she knows it's driving Morgana mad. She knows Morgana's eyes will be closed, her lip caught hard between her teeth; she'll have her hands clenched tightly enough that her nails bite into her skin. 

“Gwen,” Morgana says, her voice caught and breaking on a gasp. “Gwen, _please_.”

It's easy—so easy—to slip a finger inside. Morgana is slick, her skin hot against the coolness of Gwen's hand, and Gwen loses herself in this: in the taste of Morgana heavy in her mouth, the feel of Morgana's muscles trembling under her touch; the sound of Morgana quietly falling apart around her—for her.


End file.
